Hope
I wake to the sound of my name. It’s whispered. I’m groggy. My head is heavy, my body burning, like I’m coming down with a fever. I open my eyes and see Camille sitting across from me. He is leaning against the wall, propped up, half‑asleep.
Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead, and his eyes are struggling to focus on me.
“Hope,” he breathes, relief washing over him. “Thank the goddess you’re awake.” He rubs his face, looks shell‑shocked. “I was worried—I mean, you didn’t wake up as quickly as I.”
I swallow. My throat is dry. I try to sit up. “Where—where are we?” My voice cracks. Everything’s foggy.
“You’re okay,” he says. “We’re on the bottom floors of the place. In case we’re ever raided, we use one of the secret rooms for escape.”
I shift. I look around the room, my vi
